


Fire and Gold

by Daiako (Achrya)



Series: Promptioweek2017 [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Awkwardness, Bad Advice, Pining, implied ignoct, implied lunyx, so much pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 15:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11359881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Daiako
Summary: War sometimes crushed love, broke it, twisted it, ruined it, left hearts bleeding and shattered beneath itself heel. Perverted and used it to justify the evils of War, snuffed it out many a time, pulled it apart, tortured it, ruined it.So, naturally, Gladio, as a War God, had gone and fallen for a Love God.For Promptio Week, Day Four: Gods





	Fire and Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lhugy_for_short](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lhugy_for_short/gifts).



Love among the gods was an unusual and rare thing. They were outside of the mechanizations of the House of Love, unable to be guided or touched by the power of their brethren, and to that end love was one of the purely wild and unknown things among them, untamed even by their king. None could control how it would strike, for who, or when, nor how it would manifest itself, but what they did know was that once a god had found their other half it was truly for eternity. 

For that reason it was both prized and feared. To have one capture their heart, to have it beat in time with their own, was considered the greatest gift but to stumble blindly, unsure of what would happen next was not something many were willing to submit to. 

Not that there was much choice. When love struck a god it did so without mercy, taking hold and becoming all consuming. It could drive one to the most insane acts, such as when Regis, the king of the gods and lord of the Underworld, fell in love with his the Spring Goddess Aulea at first sight and was driven to kidnap her in order to keep her at his side. Even love formed over time, allowed to burn slowly and build, was a thing that could lead to despair and obsession. 

While no one spoke of it all knew that the Betrayer, Ardyn, had been driven by heartbreak and envy born from a terrible love. He’d laid waste to many of his fellow gods and threatened to plunge their world into an endless darkness over a wound to his heart that couldn’t be mended and many lived in even greater fear of love after. 

Gladio knew all the stories, especially those of the War of the Betrayer, but he’d never paid them much mind. He thought love was beyond him, or perhaps beneath, not a matter for one of the House of War. His mother had been mortal and of a romantic nature, taking great delight in turning the head of a War God and she had raised her children on tales of love, tragic and sweet and painful and grand. But she had died in Gladio’s third decade, when he was but a godling barely trusted to leave his father’s temple on his own, and while he did still enjoy the tales of mortals he had witnessed the heartache love could bring and did not want it for himself. 

He would come to understand that thinking he had a say in the matter had been foolish indeed. 

It started the night of Prompto’s, son of Cor, naming ceremony. When a God was to receive their calling, as eventually they all did, they went before Regis so the king may look into their souls and see what they were meant to do. Then their name would be bestowed upon them and they would begin their duties. It happened at different times for everyone, some as mere godlings and others centuries after their birth. 

Noctis, God of Death, Rebirth, and Winter, friend of the North Wind, had been born with his title. Gladio had received his name very young as well. Too young, according to many who had thought that being the patron of all True Warriors, Heroes, and their causes too big a task for a godling, but when it was time it was time and there was naught to be done about it. His sister Iris, however, was nearly two hundred and had yet to receive her title. 

Prompto, Gladio knew, was about the average age for such things but his name day was not without some protests. He wasn’t one of them, not by birth, and so there were some who thought him unworthy of ascension. They resented his existence as an outsider, hated that he had made friends with Prince Noctis when they would have their own children hold that honor, and that Regis would call him as a god, give him power and a title, was just too much for some to bear. Not that they would dare question their king out loud but as Gladio sat quietly in the Temple of Nature he heard them quite well. 

There were others who turned up their nose at Cor, Lord of the House of Nature, and so they scorned the foundling child he called his own. Gladio supposed he could see where they might reject an outsider, though it was worth nothing that all of their wars had been fought against their own kind, but the disdain people had for Cor was simply beyond him. Cor was one of the few who had fought the Astrals and against the Betrayer’s army and lived to tell the tale, yet the gods shunned and avoided him. They mockingly called him ‘The Deathless’, a jab at how many times those around him had fallen and Cor had not.  He was considered to be paranoid, at best, and slowly taking leave of his mind at worst. 

That he’d left one day and returned with a child he had then named his heir, despite not knowing from who or where he came from, had only been proof of that in the eyes of many. 

Gladio respected Cor. He was one of Clarus’ closest friends, had watched over Gladio and Iris many times, helped teach him to wield a sword, and while he may have been eccentric Gladio knew he was as sharp as ever. More sharp perhaps. Just because he didn’t want to laze about in his temple growing soft and insisted on continuing the patrols for the scattered forces of the Betrayer didn’t mean he was paranoid.  

He heard that chatter too and, as much as he would have liked to tell the haughty gods to shut the hell up, it wasn’t his place. He was in the Nature Temple, representing his father for the House of War on the naming day of the Heir of Nature. It was a sacred time, a day of peace, a day to celebrate life and the eventual passing of power.  This was the last house heir to be named for many centuries, and it was an honor that he was considered worthy to be his father’s proxy in this matter. He could not start a fight here and now, it would be disrespectful to Cor, Prompto, Clarus, and Regis. 

That he’d rather be anywhere else that wasn’t the tranquil garden, with its swaying trees, bubbling fountains that water sprites frolicked within, fragrant flowers lining twisting cobblestone walkways, and low tables surrounded by cushions for gods to lounge upon, was irrelevant. 

“Do you know Cor is requesting all godlings report for weapons training and patrols?” A goddess of from the House of Knowledge tittered. “They say he’s convinced something ‘dark is coming’.” 

One of the Love gods snorted rudely. “Imagine being so unable to live in a time of peace that you must invent enemies.” 

It was true that the Betrayer had been defeated long ago, before Gladio had been born, and the Astral War had been far far before that, when his own father was still a young god. Since Ardyn had been taken care of there had indeed been only peace among their people, no major threats to their borders or power. Yet Cor insisted on keeping as many gods as possible in fighting shape, aware of battle plans and strategy, able to think on their feet and deal with anything they may come across. 

“What authority does he have anyway?” The goddess asked. “A nature god, of all things, trying to prepare for war. It’s...it’s presumptuous. Rude. I don't know how Lord Clarus tolerates it, I would never allow someone from another house to interfere with my work.” 

Someone hummed their agreement then, much to his dismay, Gladio’s name was called. He turned slowly, looking at those gathered at the table next to him, dressed in their best robes and sipping fine wine as if they weren’t against the entire reason for the gathering. It was just a party to them, an excuse to mingle and drink and perhaps partake in an orgy or two. 

Not that there was anything wrong with partaking in an orgy. Gladio was a fan of such things, when it was the right time and in the right place. 

“What do you think Gladiolus? Is the Deathless right to involve himself in war?” 

Gladio stared at them flatly, controlling his expression as well as his tongue. He was honored to be here. This was an honor. A great honor. He would not ruin it by drawing a blade or using his words to cut anyone down. He would return to his father’s temple knowing he had brought no disgrace to the House of War. 

He breathed out slowly, trying to bring all the diplomacy and tact he’d learned at the feet of the Lady Nox-Fleuret to the forefront. “That is something for my father to worry about and no one else.” 

They laughed softly, perhaps misunderstanding him, and the goddess leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you think there are dark times ahead or is merely the ramblings of an addled god?” 

Gladio’s jaw clenched in anger. Addled? They dared- he didn't know if Cor was jumping at shadows or knew something of the future but he knew last time people had been sure nothing bad could ever happen more than half their number had gotten swords to the back or been burned in their own beds. Only gods could kill gods so they'd believed themselves safe, but the Betrayer had been very good at killing. 

Cor had once told him of the day the Gates to the Underworld were flooded with the souls of Insomnia’s gods, all too traumatized to move on or do more than stand and weep and scream. How the souls had stood there, shell shocked and devastated, wailing for their king to heal them, save them, return them to the world of the living. And how Regis had been forced to look out on his people, unable to do anything and with no idea of who had acted against them.

If Cor wanted to be on guard against that ever occurring again then so be it. Maybe he was wrong, paranoid, but better that than burned alive in his temple without so much as a whimper.

“I think Cor is one of the few gods still standing who has seen both wars so maybe you should consider what he has to say more seriously. There would be no Citadel without him.” Gladio had to forced the words out through gritted teeth then, unable to keep the words back he added. “And there will be no teeth in your mouth if you don't shut it.”

Before any more could be said the heavy stone doors of the temple were thrown open. Regis strode out first, dressed in dark robes with a sword at his hip, and Noctis followed.  He was dressed much the same as his father, save a crown of bare white branches woven together and set on his brow. Cor came next, a scowl on his lips, katana strapped to his side, dressed not in ceremonial finery but the tunic and breeches he always favored. 

A hush fell over the crowd immediately, everyone waiting for the announcement they had gathered for. Their king stood straight and tall as he called out to them, voice resonating over the garden. 

“My people, I present to you Prompto, Son of Cor, God of Pure and Young Love, God of Summer, Friend to the South Wind.” 

Gladio and Prompto weren't close friends, connected by their fathers and by their friendships with Noct, but he did know him. He saw him often enough, usually in passing or as he came to collect Noctis for a little battlefield work, and knew him as loud, earnest, and fond of scandalously short tunics. Gladio had never paid him much mind beyond that. If it didn't overlap with his work or involve his sister, Ignis, or Noctis Gladio just didn't have much time for others, least of immature nature and love gods, two subjects that he felt little personal attachment to beyond the stories and poetry of mortals. 

But when he watched Prompto walk out of the temple, redfaced and so obviously embarrassed at having all eyes on him,  something shifted into place. Prompto didn't look any different, in his tunic that barely hit mid thigh, with his wings fluttering behind him, and a crown made of small sunflower blooms carefully woven with river reeds on his head, and yet he was different. He stood straighter, his eyes were sharper, and there was...something. 

Something that was making Gladio's heart race and his mouth dry.

The crowd cheered, most of it anyway, and Gladio made himself stand and do the same even though his mind was preoccupied. Prompto and Cor descended into the garden, ready to accept the traditional gifts and well wishes but Gladio barely noticed. He sank into his seat, mouth pressed into a crown, and tried to command his heart to stop its strange stuttering and squeezing. It was a strange feeling that echoed the tense joy he felt before a hunt or while overseeing a major battle among the mortals or watching one of his heroes fins their place. But it also wasn't like that at all because this gripped him hard, made his stomach twist and hands sweat and he didn't-

“Gladdy!” Prompto’s voice was warm and delighted as he flopped onto the cushion next to him. His smile was bright and the warm breeze that followed him and seemed to wrap around Gladio smelled of sunflowers. “You came!” 

Gladio found he couldn't meet the others eyes and instead focused on shoving the gift he'd brought into Prompto’s hands. The other god hummed softly, deft fingers making short work of Iris wrapping job, to expose a bow and quiver of arrows. The soft exhale followed by a happy “ohhh” made Gladio’s heart flip. 

“Your dad made this?” Prompto asked and Gladio could see his fingers caressing the wood of the bow, and the runes engraved into it, reverently. 

He cleared his throat. Weapons. He could talk weapons, this odd feeling taking hold of him be damned. “I did. You'll need to try it out of course, for size and bend and to make sure the draw works for you. It’s heavier than your last one but-" 

“It’s beautiful.” Gladio forgot how to speak. And breathe. Or do much of anything that wasn't staring open mouthed as he was all but tackled and hugged. “Thank you. And thank you for defending my father, not many will lately ” 

Gladio swallowed and nodded. How was Prompto so warm, so small but solid and strong as he squeezed him? “Yeah. Its. Fine. I was...how do you know?” 

Prompto pulled back and smiled impishly. “The wind told me.” 

\---

The next time Gladio saw Prompto was during a hunt. There were two kinds of hunts, for food and for monsters, to keep their lands and their mortals safe. And sometimes there was overlap and Gladio was all for killing two behemoths with one stone. Literally in this case, as Ignis called on him to help with a large roaming pack that was threatening a small village under his protection. 

He's never hunted with Prompto before and,  though he knew he was good with a bow and sometimes went out with Noct and Iggy, he wasn't sure what to expect. 

Watching Prompto grab Noctis and take to the air with a powerful flap of his wings and nary a wobble or grunt of effort, to drop the prince onto a behemoth’s back then twist around fluidly to launch two arrows neatly through the eyes of a second was...well. Gladio was a war god. It did things to him. 

Ignis snorted softly and clapped him on the shoulder as they watched Prompto glide back down the the ground. “You should rein that in. I'm not sure the God of Pure Love is going to appreciate your murder boner.” 

Gladio sighed. "Fuck you Igs."

The behemoth steaks tasted like ash in his mouth that night, through no fault of Ignis.

It was not a fucking murder boner. He just...appreciated skill and battle prowess. That was totally normal. 

Wasn't it?

And then there was the time he caught Prompto in a city that had just been sacked by an army, watching as a devastated mother cradled the body of her child. He didn't know what had brought the younger god to that town, this was a place for War not Love and summer breezes, or that particular burned out ruin of a home, but watching Prompto crouch next to a woman who couldn't see or hear him and whisper words of comfort…

That did things to him too. 

Not murder boners things, thankfully. 

They didn't speak when Prompto noticed him or, even, as Prompto continued around the village to do more of the same. Gladio attended to his duties, bolstering the hopeless and encouraging those who could to take up their weapons, finding a few strong hearts who could make a difference. And if he kept his eye on Prompto at the same time that was just to make sure their influences didn't clash.

Probably.

When he came home to find Prompto, Luna and Noctis with his sister, playing with Luna’s ‘dogs’ (Literal messengers for the gods, actual Astrals, playing fetch and getting belly rubs. It made his head hurt.) He took one look at Prompto, flowers dotting his hair, laughing happily, turned on his heel and went to hit something in the training yard.

He wasn't built for these kinds of feelings. It wasn't lust, Gladio could handle lust just fine, but something that burned hot in his chest when he saw Prompto smile and heard him laugh and talked to him. It had very little to do with how attractive the other was, though there was that too, and frequently made Gladio feel like an idiot who couldn’t keep a thought in his head or speak clearly. 

He decided a few months later that it had to be love. 

He went and hit more things, and other gods, in the training yard that night, unsure if he was more upset at the emotion or the circumstances. 

It was no great secret that the House of War wasn't the most well liked among the Citadel. Gladiolus tried not to take it personally; no one liked war, not even the gods. They lost worshippers, saw the cities and temples built in their honor ransacked and toppled, and had to listen to frantic prayers, knowing all too well there wasn't much they could do. And yet war was needed. It shaped the world, encouraged growth and innovation, among other things. 

It was terrible and miserable and unhappy. No one liked war and they liked those who brought war, who oversaw it carefully and guided its path, who nudged some to victory and showed only the path to defeat to others, even less. Worse, where War went Death inevitably followed and even the Gods feared Death, their king, their strongest and only true immortal among them. At the end if all things there might not be love or knowledge or war, but there would always be death. 

More than all the other house it was the House of Love that was most at odds with war. War didn't mind Love; love of all sorts of flavors (sexual, romantic, familial, lust for people and objects) had lead to many a war. Likewise War could lead to love, wonderful bone deep love that survived distance and battles, love of one's people that forged heroes and rulers, forbidden love between enemies...all could grow and flourish because of War. 

But War also crushed love, broke it, twisted it, ruined it, left hearts bleeding and broken beneath itself heel. Perverted and used it to justify the evils of War, snuffed it out many a time. It made the relationship between the houses...strained to say the very least. As a general rule they didn't associate much, not even when all the houses were called together by King Regis or for some manner of event. War stayed with War and Love was welcomed by all and that was how it had always been. 

So, of course, Gladio had gone and fallen for a love god. And not just any love god, because that would be too easy wouldn't it? It had to be Prompto, Cor’s tiny winged foundling all grown up but always under his father's watchful, overprotective, very scary eye. Prompto who wielded his bow with a skill that was enviable (and yes, Gladio had perhaps hung around the training yards just to watch once or twice), who kept pace with Gladio during hunts and never backed down before older gods. Prompto who radiated warmth and brightness like the southern winds that obeyed him, who had a smile for everyone (even surly children of war), who embodied pure, open, reckless, young love and who was often in trouble because, like young love, he didn't put much thought into the future. Not because he was foolish, because everyone who knew him knew he was far from that, but because he lived in the moment, throwing himself wholeheartedly into whatever he was doing right then and there and never holding anything back.

It didn't hurt that he was nice to look at. Golden blond hair, a rare thing in the sea of blacks and browns of the Citadel, sparkling blue eyes, shapely legs and strong arms usually left exposed by the tunics he favored. His wings were unique among them. Only Luna and Ravus had wings but where theirs were like that of an owl, brown and spotted, Prompto’s were like a dove, all delicate white and cream feathers with touches of gold when the sun hit them just right. He stood out but he took it in stride, without any complaints that Gladio was aware of. 

Things bloomed in his wake and the very air seemed to warm in his presence and-

“Wow,” Noctis deadpanned, gave focused on his cup of wine. “You've got it bad.”

Gladio frowned at his young prince in irritation. “You asked.”

Noctis shrugged. “I thought you were going to say you liked his ass or thought he was funny, not start a ten minute monologue about his wings.”

“Are you here to help or give me shit?”

Here being the Hall of War, a large temple on the edge of a desert where Lord Regis had struck down the Astrals, the beings who had made the world and humanity and the gods themselves, watching the bright summer sun sink below the horizon. Noctis hadn't wanted to meet on the Hall of Death, in the Underworld, and Gladio only had to look at him, in his gray tunic and bare feet with his summer crown of ivy, morning glories, and daisies resting on his unruly hair, to know what sort of mood his friend was in. None of the trappings of Death were in sight save the sword laying on the steps at his side, his father's sword. The sword that had sent all the Astrals to the Underworld and won the world for the Gods. 

Today Noctis had left the Underworld a nature god. An annoying and judgemental nature god.

As they all tended to be. The winds, the earth, and all that grew from it whispered secrets to them and, in Gladio’s opinion, it made them all a little insufferable. 

Except for Prompto. 

“Both?” Noctis suggested lightly, head tilting as a breeze Gladio couldn't feel ruffled his hair. “I just wanted to make sure you had.. you know. Pure intentions for the Pure Love god. He’ll know if you don't. “

“Like you know anything about pure intentions.” Gladio grumbled, not wanting to let on that he'd been worried about that as well. Love was kind of Prompto’s ‘thing’. What if what Gladio felt wasn't good enough, strong enough, pure enough. So it kept him up at night and had sort of become a creepy obsession, that didn't mean it was enough for a love god. It didn't mean Gladio was enough or that their differences could be worked around. 

It didn't mean his love would be returned.

“You mean Iggy?” Noct leered, actually leered, at him. “Pure isn't the word I’d use for my intentions with Ignis, no.”

Gladio frowned harder but Noctis had grown up feeling the full force of Cor and Clarus’ frequent disapproval so Gladio’s glare was nothing to him. He smiled cheekily and drank from his glass, leaving Gladio to wonder for the twentieth time that evening of it was worth it. And then he, once again, thought about Prompto’s laughter and crooked grins and decided that yes, yes it was. 

“Have you considered just...grabbing him?” Noctis asked. His expression and tone were earnest and sincere. So much so that Gladio was temporarily at a loss. “You can snatch him when he's working in Cor’s field. Take him back here and shut it off from the Citadel until he...likes you. I guess. ...oh,and get him to eat something. That's important. Not sure why but it is.”

Gladio blinked. “What the fuck Noct?”

“What? It worked for my dad.” Noctis puffed up, offended by Gladio’s incredulous look. “And you seem to have what he had. The sudden love and being a creeper who follows Prompto around.” 

He did not follow Prompto around. Much. ...he wasn't anywhere near the same level as Regis had supposedly been with Aulea, at least. Yet.

“Only because your mother wasn't Cor’s adoptive kid. Your grandmother only caused terrible winters and destroyed harvests. Cor...I don't want to think about what he'd do if someone snatched Prompto.” Gladio shivered, the desert heat suddenly unable to touch him. 

Gladio was many things but suicidal wasn't among them.

“...good point.” Noctis conceded, frowning down into his goblet. “Well. How about you ask around? Talk to people who know him, see what he likes, and make a plan.” 

“I thought that's what I was doing.” if course if he'd known kidnapping was Noct's best idea he would have refrained.

Noctis rolled his eyes. “Not just me. Ignis, Luna, Iris. ...not Cor.” 

Gladio shivered again. “No, not Cor.” 


End file.
